Ephemeral Things

another name for the same thing

2010-03-19T16:03:00.001-07:00

so i've started a new blog.
yellowredblueblue.blogspot.com

come thither.

ain't no sunshine when she's gone

2010-01-19T12:38:00.000-08:00

2010-01-19T12:06:00.000-08:00

life is too short
and every pin
pointing down
reveals further depths
of unmet potential.
hello hello hello everyone
is it me you're looking for?

To-do List for 2010

2009-12-31T21:32:00.000-08:00

1. Forgive myself.
2. Forget the guilt and move on from it.
3. Learn how to not run away from my feelings all the time.
4. Learn how to fly.
5. Go kayaking, dammit.
6. Go ghost hunting in the alleged most haunted places in California.
7. Do number 6 while on a road trip with friends.
8. Become a mermaid for a day.
9. Learn how to cry in front of the people I love.
10. Eat healthier and drink nothing but McDonalds sweet tea.
11. Write something everyday.
12. Let myself be who I am, at all times, no matter the company.
13. Start my own religion.
14. Go really, really fast in a car.
15. Go climbing again.
16. Meet a real life Sheldon.
17. Start a weekly ritual of going to adventurous places. (Fred's with Ermich included.)
18. Learn more about photography.
19. Take some artistic classes to get out of the box.
20. Sleep more and wake up with the sun like I used to.

2009-12-29T03:12:00.000-08:00

i could keep pretending.

but the truth is, i'm very alone,

and i miss you.

i've never been good with the truth, have i?

Kdog power night.

2009-12-28T15:55:00.000-08:00

"You suck at throwing french fries at cats."

"I have pointy shits sometimes, they're horrible. Terrible. Have you ever had barbed wire in your ass? I have. It's called the biscuit scramble."

"Fistin' Kristin is your new porn name. It's official."

"Please don't walk around in the drive thru anymore, lady. You could get hurt."

There should be a sitcom about nights in the backyard. You know what I mean.

2009-12-26T23:08:00.000-08:00

I asked my friend once, if he had to describe what I'm like to another person, how would he do it? What would he say to conjure up the essence of me to a stranger?

He responded by telling me that I was like a rich emerald green garden. I was brimming with light and laughter, cascading beams of sun, playful and amorous with tenacious red blossoms and exotic roses. I was like a garden when the last of the sun is setting behind the hills and the sky becomes a bruised orange. I was like a beautiful garden, but with a broken rusted shopping cart abandoned in the clearing; gleaming dull metal, etched with the fingerprints of a million people worn away into the handles, dewing with beads of acidic sweat, in the center of an otherwise gorgeous oasis.

In other words, I am a random act of violence in an otherwise sedate and loving creature.

I understand that now.

2009-12-22T11:30:00.000-08:00

Impatient Patient

2009-12-22T11:08:00.001-08:00

I've been dreaming for weeks of the quintessential "perfect" day. Snoozing in til nine, putting on an Ozark record and dancing in the shower, crafting with mod podge on the floor of my tidy room. Taking breaks to read in my big red chair with my legs kicked off to the side and my fingers pressed against my lips like I'm contemplating with a cigarette. Not thinking about work or Christmas or the millions of obligations I bring on myself.

Now, I'm nursing my extracted tooth. I'm granted this beautiful day of rest, I'm knocked out with vicodin, I've got a stack of books snuggled with me in bed, reading list includes: The Bell Jar, Notes From The Underground, The Pleasures of the Damned, Anna Karenina, and Manhunt. Got a playlist going starring Bright Eyes and Camera Obscura, not a care in the world.

EXCEPT THAT MY FACE FEELS LIKE I TOOK A DIVE FROM A CLIFF AND LANDED ON A SHARP BOULDER WITH MY JAW. AND THEN A LUMBERJACK WITH STEEL-TOED BOOTS KICKED ME IN THE NECK. AND A KID WITH A YO-YO IS PRACTICING TORTURE TACTICS ON MY GIANT PUFFED UP CHEEK.

Fuckers.

But aside from that, what a great daaaayy.

Thanks to all my loves who've set out with determination to make me feel better. Thanks for the shakes and the pudding and the huggles.

SOUNDS GOOSE

2009-12-14T16:32:00.001-08:00

Sami the Sadist

2009-12-14T15:37:00.000-08:00

once upon a time i had a lion

he would sit at the end of my bed

and the light from the ceiling

would create shadows

between his teeth

sharp sharp blood

sharp sharp words

when he growled the pleasure

echoed off the walls

and made my heart into

a shattered glass globe

the snow settled at the bottom

of my rib cage

and now i am a black widow

and i will kill the lion

with a venomous kiss

and eat him alive.

allure

2009-12-08T20:45:00.000-08:00

These passed few days have been tricky for me. Tricky and confusing and strange. There are plenty of lightbulbs drifting over my head, illuminating parts of me I didn't realize I had. But with every new layer of recognition another shadow emerges. We all have our own self-perceptions which almost always are contrary to others' perceptions of us. What I'm trying to figure out is how to let the idealistic theory of a natural "self" die.

I always thought that who you are is just who you are. Somewhere inside you was an innate truth, the natural essence of you, and if you were honest enough about yourself everyone would see that "you." But no one will ever see you as you see yourself. Not everyone will like you. Not everyone will respect you. Not everyone will understand your intentions. And not everyone has to, or even should. Yet there's this indomitable torturous need inside me to make the whole world love me.

What I've come to discover is that even if I succeed, I fail. Up to this point, I've had to be a chameleon and shift myself around to accomodate everyone, all of my own accord because of my freakish neediness. Even if they all love me, I don't know myself.

So, I've known this about myself for a while, considering the people I truly love tell me everyday of my life "Sami, you need to make yourself happy and fuck the rest of the world." And that's some pretty god damned good advice, if I do say so myself. I'd probably curl up into a ball and rot in loneliness and perpetual identity-deformities without my friends, and I want to say THANK YOU to them for their understanding and love and putting up with me and my self-fulfilling prophecies.

The brightest lightbulb that went on for me revealed I have a lot of shit in my life to regret, but a lot more to be grateful for. Like the people who DO see me as I see myself. People who see me as far greater of a human being than I see myself. People who make me aspire to be a more honest person.

But honesty comes with some consequences. If I'm honest with myself, what category of woman do I fit into?

A good girl or a bad girl?

the yellow wallpaper

2009-12-02T15:09:00.000-08:00

i want to live here bathed in yellow. yes?

dark roads never lead home.

2009-11-30T08:55:00.000-08:00

I slept all day yesterday, and I'm still tired.

My soul is exhausted.

Everything that makes me who I am is crying out to be on a dark road.

The comforting glow of headlights fading into absolute black is the

only image my depleted heart has to offer me for solace.

I want to drive alone into nowhere and listen to "Honey and the Moon".

I want to be a run-away, a nomad, a fearless freak abandoning the obligations

of a life I wandered aimlessly into.

I want to pretend that who I am is not a series of tragedies I had no control over;

a jumble of insecurities and lies and accidents and death. I thought I could

be who I wanted to be, when I'll always be what somebody else wants me to be.

If I am what I want to be--

all I want is to be a coma victim

and sleep sleep sleep

sleep

and

not

wake

until

dust

and

bones

and

soul

again.

2009-11-26T14:23:00.000-08:00

This handsome blue man makes me feel pretty okay with the world. I could be a planeteer.

But not that blonde Australian bitch, she bugs me. I want to be the little guy with the monkey, whose elemental power is "heart"? Weakest shit ever. Let me heart you to death. Whoever came up with that concept is a d-bag.

Anyway, he's still funny and still has the monkey, so he's a character of high value and aesthetic interest. Thanks.

the day that marks that you're not here.

2009-11-24T23:20:00.000-08:00

So I'm waiting for this test to end
So these lighter days can soon begin
I'll be alone, but maybe more carefree.
Like a kite that floats so effortlessly

I was afraid to be alone.
But now i'm scared that's how I'd like to be.

2009-11-24T10:09:00.000-08:00

I just want to sit in a park under a long overhang while it's raining.
I want to wear a big floppy hat with a gorgeous black brim
and pearls.
I want to stretch out on a green bench and listen to
Azure Ray

and be so god damned far away from here.

my life is

2009-11-23T20:44:00.000-08:00

Demented and sad, but social.

i wear it. yeah.

2009-11-23T20:33:00.000-08:00

i could give it to ya but what'chu gonna do wit it?

2009-11-19T20:49:00.000-08:00

Alone with Everybody.

the flesh covers the bone
and they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men drink too
much
and nobody finds the
one
but keep
looking
crawling in and out
of beds.
flesh covers
the bone and the
flesh searches
for more than
flesh.

there's no chance
at all:
we are all trapped
by a singular
fate.

nobody ever finds
the one.

the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the hospitals fill
the graveyards fill

nothing else
fills.

-Bukowski.

2009-11-19T20:06:00.000-08:00

"I JUST SAID HI."

(iloveyou.)

in this is where feelings are kept?

2009-11-19T20:02:00.000-08:00

i'm a victim of my imagination.

2009-11-19T10:17:00.000-08:00

no kids. you can't be an astronaut.
they're all lying to you.
what they really meant when they said
"you can be anything you want to be"
was
"get a shit job, pay the government, pop out children, and don't collect social security."

forgetitforgetit

2009-11-19T10:08:00.000-08:00

he has
a hot mouth
like an iron
and his tongue
whips heat
into my bones
but i remember
warmer nights
quivering under
a heavier body
i remember
charcoal eyes
telling me i was
ugly
in a voice made
of severed barbed wire.
but i was beautiful
so beautiful
when i was
giving him
pleasure.

A conversation between a Girl and Insecurity.

2009-11-15T16:34:00.000-08:00

"I want to talk about last night," she said, grasping the neck of the bottle like a forlorn child. Her lips shivered from the sheen of sugar glistening in the crevices where her lipstick could never reach. "I want to talk about last night." Her eyes fell prey to the bone white linens and the floral arrangements and the beguiling tapestries.

He was shrugging and scratching his chin. When he looked at her it was the strangest feeling, as if he were holding her tightly, crushing her in his arms, and then ever so gently, ever so languidly, releasing her from the top of the highest cliff into a wilderness of snow. She was watching him up above, with his arms folded and the dissatisfied quirk in his lips, as she fell rapidly toward the ground.

"What about last night?" he said.

"The part where you said you loved me. Don't you remember?" she cried, furious and frightened at once, the feeling of falling still quickening her heart to an alarming pace.

"I don't know, you need to stop taking these things so seriously. All the men leave you anyway. All the men with their impassioned promises and their fevered desires. They have you, they have you in every way imaginable, and then they walk away. They rot away. They find anyway they can to abandon you after you give them your trust."

"This time it seemed different, it really did. It really did." She took a swig from the bottle and stared vacantly into her empty lap.

"It's a different name, but always the same man," he said, and found his own way out.

THE GAME

2009-11-11T09:53:00.000-08:00

I JUST LOST THE GAME.

GOD DAMN IT.

2009-11-09T14:40:00.000-08:00

2009-11-09T14:17:00.000-08:00

Words

2009-11-09T13:50:00.000-08:00

"words have been used up
chewed up like gum
by lovely young mouths
have been turned into white
balloons bubbles

diminished by politicians
they're used for whitening
teeth
and for the rinsing out
of mouths

in my childhood
words could be
applied to a wound
could be given
to the one you loved

now
diminished
wrapped in newspaper
they still contaminate still reek
they still hurt

hidden in heads
hidden in hearts
hidden under the gowns
of young women
hidden in holy books
they burst out
they kill"

-Tadeusz Rozewicz

are they just words?
sometimes, i don't know.

I need a day off.

2009-11-08T18:31:00.001-08:00

Not that I work too hard, I just want to sing in the shower with Ferris Bueller.

2009-11-03T12:40:00.000-08:00

you're so hot, coffee.
i haven't wanted a cup of you so bad in my entire life.
just some of you caressed with caramel.
oh babbbby yooooouuuu've got what i neeeeeeeeeedddd!

PS: shortly thereafter I went to Starbucks. desire complete.

e.e. cummings 29

2009-11-03T01:16:00.000-08:00

"if i have made,my lady,intricate
imperfect various things chiefly which wrong
your eyes (frailer than most deep dreams are frail)
songs less firm than your body's whitest song
upon my mind--if i have failed to snare
the glance too shy--if through my singing slips
the very skillful strangeness of your smile
the keen primeval silence of your hair

--let the world say "his most wise music stole
nothing from death"--

your only will create
(who are so perfectly alive)my shame:
lady through whose profound and fragile lips
the sweet small clumsy feet of April came

into the ragged meadow of my soul."

e.e. cummings is the only man i'll ever need, because he doesn't give a shit what it sounds like as long as his poetry is absolute truth.

2009-11-03T00:01:00.000-08:00

i want to live in a little yellow house

with white trimming
and sunflowers bobbing along the drive.
if i could paint the walls in every room
swirls of living colors
devoid of any apathy,
i could pretend that the things
that don't really exist,
the intangible things like
almost lovers and incomplete ideals,
can't scar me.
when i look in the mirror i see
road maps
crossing my skin in dull red patterns
quivering
waiting to be etched into
reality.
sometimes wanting things is the
hard part. remembering you'll never get them
is
even harder.

2009-10-31T19:34:00.000-07:00

2009-10-28T23:33:00.000-07:00

PS:
I don't have a father to give me away at my wedding, if I ever have one.
It's just one of those things you realize but don't talk about.

Asleep.

2009-10-28T23:15:00.000-07:00

Today I was really happy. I don't know why, but I think it had a lot to do with the fact that I could smell rain in the air. It was crisp and cold and I got to wear my big scarf, the golden brown one that looks like it was woven in the seventies. I got to wear floppy boots and drink hot tea. It might also have been the fact that I left my phone at home for most of the day, which meant I was untethered.

I got to thinking just now that I want to believe in beautiful things, like cold days wearing cherry chapstick and fall leaves and dark colors. Then I look down at my hands in the shitty stunted lighting of my laptop and all the lines there, all the wrinkles in my hands, all the crevices and the tiny scars, the ring indents, the chipped maroon nail polish, the patchwork patterns over my knuckles. It seems to me we're all made of tiny little things, cells and flakes of skin, cuticles. It's so ugly as a whole, but in pieces everything makes sense and it's all so pretty.

I know it sounds crazy. That's how it happens when I'm happy.

To ruin the mood, here are The Smiths lyrics I cried to the other day:

Sing me to sleep
I'm tired and I
I want to go to bed
Sing me to sleep
Sing me to sleep
And then leave me alone
Don't try to wake me in the morning
'Cause I will be gone

Don't feel bad for me
I want you to know
Deep in the cell of my heart
I will feel so glad to go

Sing me to sleep
Sing me to sleep
I don't want to wake up
On my own anymore

2009-10-28T22:56:00.000-07:00

Can't you tell that everytime I say I miss you

what I really mean is

I can't breathe without you and you're too far away.

AHEM.

2009-10-25T16:55:00.001-07:00

i thought she was my reward.

2009-10-24T01:29:00.000-07:00

This is probably the eightieth time I've watched this movie, but I can't get enough of The Razor's Edge. Sometimes I have to close my eyes half way through the movie and imagine an ending where Sophie becomes the eternal prize, unaltered and untouched by the slobbering venom of spite. But then again, the beauty of the movie is that I walk away from it, every time, feeling
sad, tarnished, jaded, yet content, hopeful, and utterly clear that
everything is just nothing
and we make nothing everything.
it is what it is.
the truth remains that life owes us absolutely nothing.

2009-10-24T00:59:00.000-07:00

I would rather be a failed actress than a failed writer.
There seem to be an equal amount of opportunities to fail in both areas,
but it's almost an expectation to fail at becoming famous.
It's entirely different to fail at something
that you believe sums up who you are.

What I mean is, the next time a customer at the restaurant asks me
what I want to be when I "grow up" (really?) I'm going to lie,
tell them I'm waiting for somebody to discover me after I did
that totally awesome tooth paste commercial. Rather than have to say

"I would like to make money by writing things that inspire people."

Because who believes that, anyway?

PS: Above is my attempt to imitate ScarJo. All I need is a well defined rack and I think I might be in business.

2009-10-21T10:10:00.001-07:00

hello, my name is Jo. i wear stockings, eat apples, and otherwise meander about with a book

and say things like "oh teddy dear." i am a delicate woven doll.

it's amusing that everyone is a bundle of vulnerability but few people have the guts to actually admit that they aren't impenetrable. sometimes strength is counter productive.

sometimes i need a fainting chair. that's all I'm saying.

the love song of s. joanne colwell

2009-10-21T08:50:00.000-07:00

we have lingered in the chambers of the sea

by seagirls wreathed with seaweed red and brown,

till human voices wake us,

and we drown.

2009-10-20T23:10:00.000-07:00

will i have to hold my breath forever to make it through?

2009-10-19T14:28:00.000-07:00

we were driving through the tunnels.

the lights were flickering flourescent stars

smeared with fog.

you asked me what i was doing

when i started to go blue around the edges.

i was holding my breath

making a wish

until we'd cleared the tunneled pass.

i discovered, after i inhaled a long-awaited,

long-denied,

sputtering gasp

of air,

that you had been driving far too slow

to ever make my wish come true.

Brand New crew.

2009-10-19T00:24:00.000-07:00

So many thoughts occured to me during this sideways trip known as Hollywood mayhem. A pact made by three complicated women was fulfilled and, in fact, declared a monstrous success. The Men folk pulled through for us. Throughout most of the night I was too high to feel my face, hence all the sticking out of my tongue in various pictures(Ramsey. You're bad ass.) Brand New will never be the same for me. Jesse Lacey was beautiful in his cardigan, screaming at the top of his lungs.

Play Crack The Sky

"this story's old and it goes on and on until we disappear

call me and let me taste the salt you breathe while you

were underneath

i am the one who haunts your

dreams of mountains sunk below the sea.
i spoke the words but never gave a thought

to what they all could mean

i know that this is what you want

a funeral keeps both of us apart

you know that you are not alone.

i need you like water in my lungs."

2009-10-16T20:11:00.000-07:00

The gods have spoken. I need to get out of here for a while.
I had paint on my hands today for the first time in a long time.
Too freeing of a feeling.

I can't even pretend to care about much of anything anymore.
I call it stylishly apathetic. I want to paint a sign on my head that says "Go Around."

A customer at the restaurant told me I didn't get "brownie points" from her because I didn't bring her a glass of milk before she finished her waffle, which she horked down like she hadn't eaten in months. So I threw the glass of milk in her face, elbowed her thorax, and told her she was insignificant.

Totally. No kidding.

I officially have a sidedish friend. Life is good.

2009-10-15T23:44:00.000-07:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JbhRFVXOUxo

Do you want to be my side dish friend?
Cause I'll miss you if go for good, yeah
We could stay together till the very end of time
If it's understood
That I don't want you hanging out with me
But, I want you when I call
We can stay together separately
And we won't be lonely at all

Rachael Yamagata is fantastic at pretty much everything, especially direct lyrical genius.

2009-10-14T18:19:00.000-07:00

Had we been entirely different people, I believe we would have been in love. We would have been two crippled song writers, whistling in the alleys and begging for coins. We would have been two children wrestling under a tent made out of blankets and shredded pillow cases and pin-up stars. We would have been brother and sister, cowering in the hallway while an earthquake shook the house. We would have been strangers, brushing elbows on the bus, shyly exchanging glances over the New York Times. We would have been enemies in high school when you told the teachers that I always cheated on tests. We would have been shamen with gold cloaks and gems for teeth, picking bones out of the earth and telling fortunes.

Had we been entirely different people we would still always be together. Maybe when we come back again, we'll finally understand what that means.

I don't want to fade away.

2009-10-14T18:03:00.000-07:00

I'm listening to Derek and the Dominos, particularly Bell Bottom Blues. The brilliance of Eric Clapton.

Bell bottom blues, you made me cry.

I don't want to lose this feeling.

And if I could choose a place to die

It would be in your arms.

Do you want to see me crawl across the floor to you?

Do you want to hear me beg you to take me back?

I'd gladly do it because

I don't want to fade away.

Give me one more day, please.

I don't want to fade away.

In your heart I want to stay.

Once I was strong but I lost the fight.

You won't find a better loser.

Bell bottom blues, don't say goodbye.

I'm sure we're gonna meet again.

I don't want to fade away,

in your heart I want to stay.

2009-10-13T09:52:00.000-07:00

I'm really, really stupid about most things, I have to say. My stupidity ranges from how to deal with people to how to deal with being in love. I could very well be the most ridiculous girl on the planet with my intense reactions, haughty laughs, complete lack of faith, suspicious nature, jealous dispositions, and the clear intentions to run away at first signs of danger. There are some things I can't help but be.

I never want to be them again.

I cried last night thinking "Danger, Danger."

Instead of figuring myself out, I want to just hold on tight and hope for the best, but what's the point when I already know how the cards will fall? I don't want to sleep, I just want to keep on loving you.

Ain't no stoppin now.

2009-10-11T10:57:00.000-07:00

I'm watching the eighties phenomenon Breakin. Back when you could use the term "those people." OOOOZOOOO STREET DANCER!!! Rip your sleeves and dance like your life's on the line.

Best quote of the day: "Don't make sense, 'cause I'm old," says my Mother. As well as "If you want a butch haircut, it's okay, I don't care if you're gay."

My brother: "Stop talking, you're digging yourself into a stupid hole."

My mother loves me. And Breakin'.

Later: "Now that's not true, I don't like the Breakin' show.."

2009-10-10T19:20:00.000-07:00

i hope you laugh everyday.
i hope you forgive everyone
and never have to live with regret.

you can even forget pain, sometimes.

Once again, the Bee Gees are right about everything.

2009-10-09T09:29:00.000-07:00

2009-10-09T08:28:00.000-07:00

I'm really, really bad at reading people. I never assume intention. Somehow, this always ends up supplying me with not-so-fun-filled surprises, almost making me feel naive. Which is the most horrid and disgusting thing to be.

Henceforth, I'll never again trust the instinct that says "Yes, go ahead, play nice. No danger here." Everything unassuming about me betrays me.

Roar.

my huckleberry friend moon river

2009-10-08T00:01:00.000-07:00

2009-10-07T22:53:00.000-07:00

I think there's something to be said about terrible horror films. The great horror films of every other generation deal with psychological dramatics, subtle terror, intrinsic heartbeat music and characters perturbed by their own hidden rage.

Even greater though are the shittiest horror movies of this generation. Not for chill factors or for the feeling of pure blood-pounding adrenaline. Not only for mock value. Simply because humans made this. Semi-functioning, literate human beings, usually with diplomas of some kind, wrote these screen plays and directed these movies.

Your nextdoor neighbor, we'll name her Brittney Taylor Ashley. She has the IQ of a wounded termite gnawing on a Redneck's wooden tooth. She comes up with a generic idea for a screenplay. Let's say her story's about a girl in high school who is secretly a succubus monster and eats her boyfriends. Let's say she takes a screen writing class, the wheel turns, she blows some guy who knows a guy who knows a guy, and suddenly she's making a sum off of this terrible idea that we as a people are EAGER to run to the theaters and pay an ABUSIVE amount of money to see. Because it's starring the powder puff Megan Foxy Box.

It's fascinating, really. And I'm a total sucker for this shit.

2009-10-05T00:53:00.000-07:00

I imagine myself in a world where there are people that wait politely for you to merge into traffic, so as not to cause steaming piles of bullshit constipation on the roads. I imagine myself on my little red chair, with my legs folded underneath me in a comfortable criss-cross, watching a television that never runs reality shows. A world where my man-servant (a centaur named Gustav) rides into my room to deliver capri suns and tapioca pudding and peanut butter and mayonaise sandwiches. A world where Sheldon from the sitcom The Big Bang Theory is my best friend and neurotically chants scientific calculations at me while I laugh heartily. I want to live in a world where my biggest responsibilities include writing children's books from bed, painting my toenails bright colors, and baking strange exotic pies.

Alas, fate is a cruel mistress. I'm now well-aquainted with the benign madness that is ordinary life.

But I'll have my fucking centaur someday. Mark my words.

I want singing statues for therapy. So unfair.

2009-10-01T10:28:00.000-07:00

2009-10-01T00:28:00.000-07:00

You'll get everything you want
my friend.
You won't have to listen to me
wanting to love you anymore.

2009-09-29T22:48:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I wish you would tell me I'm beautiful
and that everything's going to be okay.

Story of my Life.

2009-09-29T11:18:00.000-07:00

nataliedee.com

2009-09-29T02:27:00.000-07:00

Drowned

i wear your necklace of kisses,
though i lack the strength
to take them off.
    a necklace becomes a collar-
and kisses become anchors-
at the bottom of your sea
my feet can rest.
the ocean is clear,
so you can
watch
me


sink.

Who piddled on your feet, my brother?

2009-09-28T00:44:00.000-07:00

2009-09-27T23:54:00.000-07:00

the platitudes of youth

they sat and tied their shoes beside the picnic table,
the blond girls with rose-tipped noses and over-sized purses.
their stomachs were full of vodka and cranberry juice.
when they talked, their cherry lip gloss shone under the streetlights,
shedding streaks of violet lightening. exuberant and slightly pissed,
quaking with adrenaline from sneaking out their bedroom window
in the middle of a January night, they strutted on gleaming shaven knees
and replayed stories of the nights events while careening loudly
into garbage cans.
one girl fiddling with her bag, eager to use the bathroom,
squatted behind a car and pulled her pants down.
when she woke up in the morning
her over-sized purse was still soaked with her own urine
and her room smelled like a homeless man's cologne.
still, she would repeat this sordid cycle,
because it's just so awesome to be young
and drunk on a Friday night
in Nowhere.

like smelling death before a doorway,
the glistening girls of yesterday become
skeleton babies and jaded waifs.
all they ever wanted was to find a way
back to the make-believe place.

2009-09-27T19:10:00.000-07:00

The End Is Pretty Fucking Near
For months now all I’ve heard about is the ominous, encroaching doom of the ill-fated 2012. The researched literature about our species’ inevitable demise lines the aisles of Barnes and Noble like heretical red flags. Mini series, supernatural sites, even a movie starring the previously adored John Cusack all claim that the end of humanity will come in less than three years.
Now, don’t get me wrong, but you’re all fucking nut jobs. The Mayans were smart bastards, but raise your hand if any one of you can decode the obscure and esoteric patterns on their ancient round Blackberry. That’s what I thought. Just because you googled 2012 and watched a clip on the History channel doesn’t make you an expert. It also doesn’t mean that a solar phenomena will equate to world destruction.
We are all whores for mass hysteria. The media promotes fear, targeting those of us who think with one giant gold fish brain. I bet it took you three seconds to forget the Y2K frenzy only to move on to giant black holes and the tick-tock of the exploding sun. The epidemic of fear has ushered us into an age of finger-pointing at random natural events. Suddenly everything has become a sign of catastrophic tragedy predicted by the prophets: earthquakes, tsunamis, terrorist attacks. The age old adage “shit happens” no longer applies. Now it’s “shit happens because the wise Mayans said so.” Finding meaning in meaningless disasters is the new trend. Prophets like Nostradamus and the Sybil along with bible-toting crazies have been predicting the end of the world for centuries with no results, so what the hell’s new? If by some slim chance the world does come to an end on 2012, why are you worried? Nothing can save you anyway. We all know hiding under a desk can protect us from nuclear bombs, that’s common knowledge, but what can protect us from the universe?
The new theory being twittered around is that the Mayans didn’t predict the end of the world but instead a new begining for an elevated level of thought. Instantly, all of our brains will expand in knowledge and understanding, giving us the ability to form a perfect society. So in other words, we’ll all be replaced by aliens like in Finney’s “The Body Snatchers” and be forced to partake in a valium-induced cult. I’d rather take the world destruction, thank you.
Here’s my prediction for our eventual collapse. It won’t come from some cataclysmic restructuring of the world or from the intellectual left-overs of a dead culture. It’ll be from our own precious stupidity. We’ll overpopulate, pollute, and bake the world in a giant dutch oven. Then blow ourselves to pieces. Hit me up if my prophecy ends up on the history channel in twenty years, I’d like to Tivo that shit.
For now I’ll bide my time until the second coming by creating me own doomsday clock–an advent calendar. Everyday that we grow closer to ultimate destruction, I get a yummy chocolate candy and a pop-top snapple fact about the naivete of our self-defeating society.
(An article for the Union Weekly.)